Too Few Role Models
by VisitingHoursAreOver
Summary: [Huddy] When House gets into a minor car accident, he temporarily seeks refuge at Cuddy's house. How will this change their relationship, pardon the cliché? Also, Christmas is on it’s way, and Cuddy’s parents make a surprise visit.
1. Skin of the Teeth

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the soggy cardboard box I live in and a laptop conveniently equipped with wireless internet - all of which are for sale. 

A/N: This is my first fanfic. I apologize for mistakes and sucky-ness. I'll also have you know that I'm inexperienced in the medical world and I have no 'MD' behind my name.

Chap. 1 Skin of the Teeth

Hobbes: Why do we play 'War' and not 'Peace'?

Calvin: Too few role models.

-Calvin & Hobbes; Bill Waterson-

Cuddy: You want me to yell at you?

House: It is comforting.

-Informed Consent-

Cuddy was awoken from her peaceful stupor by the sounds of annoyingly repetitive knocks. Cuddy would have recognized the sharp knocks if she wasn't so drunk with fatigue. She turned over onto her side and placed a pillow over her head to drown out the noise. She didn't care who was knocking on her door this late at night (11:57, to be exact). For all she cared at the moment, they could go to hell if meant that she could go back to sleep. It had been a hectic day at work and she just wanted to snooze.

But the banging didn't let up even 15 minutes later. She grudgingly made her way out of bed, and with her eyes half closed, she stumbled to her front door.

She unlocked her door and swung it open crankily, the cold winter breeze immediately assaulting her. It was snowing outside, and everything was covered with white powdery stuff.

At first she didn't see anyone in her line of vision, but then her eyes moved downwards to see a cold House sitting by her door. He was dotted with melting snowflakes, his shoes and pants soaked, his hair speckled with snow. He had his cane in his right hand, and was obviously the one responsible for the knocking, and he had his blue backpack sitting beside him. But the most observable thing about his appearance was the large four inch gash that appeared on his face, one end by his temple, the other by his hairline on his forehead. His blood encrusted brow was creased as he gazed up at Cuddy.

"Cute jams," he said halfheartedly, observing Cuddy's cotton pajamas.

"Are you ok? What happened?" demanded Cuddy, taking in his disheveled appearance. She immediately bent down to help him to his feet.

"Car slipped on some ice. Hit a tree, and walked here," he said, grunting, as he made his way to his feet, using his cane and Cuddy as support. His cold and sore muscles protested but in the end he was vertical with his backpack and cane in hand. "Could I stay here for the night? My cars kind of wrapped around a tree."

"Um, sure," she said lamely. The thought of House staying at her home was weird, but he obviously needed a place to stay and some medical attention.

House gingerly sat down on her couch, and Cuddy left to get some medical stuff.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy returned moments with her "medical stuff". She took out a penlight and began to check House's pupils. "I'm fine. Really," he protested.

"House, you could have a concussion," she said, gently lifting one of his eyelids, his skin cold beneath her fingertips. She began flashing the penlight into his eye, doing the same to the other. "Pupils are even and reactive," Cuddy stated professionally, though her eyes were clouded with worry.

"That's because I'm fine," he persisted quite lamely.

But Cuddy ignored him and began to clean the blood from his face. "Do you have a headache?"

"Well, it stands to reason that when one's car assaults their forehead they'll get a headache."

"How about dizziness?"

"A little; and I'm fine."

"Why were you out driving this late, anyway?" she asked, taking a glance at the wall clock. It was about 12:20.

"My patient's got a new symptom," he said wincing, as she began to clean closer to the cut.

"Johnny Beckett?" asked Cuddy. She was always informed on House's patients. He was always bound to do something reckless or break hospital policy.

Seventeen year old Johnny was turning out to be a difficult case.

"Is that his name?" asked House. He remembered patients by their symptoms, not their names. "Foreman called me in. The team's still there and apparently they couldn't possibly do a differential over the phone."

A few moments of silence followed. Lisa would have felt awkward being this close to House, but Dr. Cuddy was assured that this was only an exam.

"Well, you won't need stitches. What else hurts? Did you manage to break any bones? Or is the rest just bruises?"

"Which one of those questions would you like me to answer first?" Upon Cuddy's look he responded with "Just bruises. But I think I busted two fingers."

Cuddy looked down at his left hand which he had been cradling against chest. "Let me see," she said, gesturing for his hand.

Grudgingly, House handed his hand over (haha, I made a funny). Cuddy gingerly examined the purple fingers, the skin broken with a red cut stretching over the last three digits.

She wanted to get an x-ray of his hand, but that required dragging him to the hospital. Instead she changed the subject, holding off the inevitable, still gently holding his hand. "Where's your car?"

"In a ditch some two miles away…"

"You walked two miles to my house?" she said, incredulously.

"My cell phone's dead and you were the closest."

Cuddy began to worry more for the doctor sitting on her couch. She didn't even want to imagine a cripple with chronic pain and a migraine treading his way through two miles of snow.

Cuddy covered her concern. "You need to learn to recharge your cell phone."

"So I've been told."

"You should let me take you to the hospital."

He groaned. "I don't want to go. I'm fine."

"You were just in a car accident, you have broken fingers" she said, exasperated by his stubbornness. "You need to be fully checked."

"No, I don't."

Cuddy paused for moment. "Think of it like this: If I don't get you to a hospital and I let you sleep here, then I'll be up all night being worried. Then I'll have to drink a lot of coffee, and there won't be any left when you wake up. And then you'll have to worry about me 'mother-henning' over you without any coffee."

She could see House weighing the two evils, deciding with was the lesser. "Well, since you put it like that," he said, his face mirroring defeat.

Cuddy grinned. "Let me get changed, and then we're off."

"Like a prom dress," she heard House mutter dejectedly as she left the living room.

- - - - - - - - - -

The ride to PPTH was uneventful.

In fact, House slept throughout most of it. The only time he spoke was when commenting her choice of music when she started up the car. Imagine, by John Lennon, had played softly through the speakers.

"I didn't strike you as a Lennon fan," he had said, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's a good song," Cuddy said, her tone defensive.

"A classic," he agreed, and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. And shortly after that he had fallen asleep.

Getting him out of the car was another story. It was like trying to wake a grizzly bear in the middle of its hibernation. There was a lot of complaining and threats going back and forth until finally he stumbled out of the car.

Of course, then she had to convince him to get into a hospital gown. He had groaned, moaned, and muttered a string of profanities about 'stupid hospital gowns', but in the end, Cuddy, once again, prevailed.

A brief differential, exam, x-ray, MRI, two vicodins, and a coffee later, they were back at Cuddy's house, only after arguing in the car.

"You might as well just bring me to my house," he had muttered, watching the world go by out the window.

"Your bag is at my house," she said, keeping her eyes on the road.

"You could just drop it off tomorrow."

"Yes, but then I would have to go out of my way on my day off to give it to you. Besides, my house is closer. And I'm tired and don't want to drive anymore. Want to go for a record and try for two car accidents in one night?"

"No thanks," he said quickly, too tired to fight about where he spent the night.

And then they were standing in her living room, both a bit awkward, and both very exhausted.

"You'll have to sleep on the couch." She didn't want House sleeping on the couch, and she knew she would feel guilty sleeping in a warm bed while the cripple slept on the sofa, but she didn't have a spare room. "You could sleep in my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch," she offered, quite awkwardly.

Seeing her unease, House said, "And get your girlie cooties? I'll take my chances with the couch."

"I'll get out some spare blankets and you need to change out of your wet clothes. I smuggled a pair of scrubs. I figured they'd be more comfortable then sleeping in wet jeans." She handed him a pair of blue hospital scrubs. She knew he hated them, but she figured that he'd rather be comfortable.

House simply nodded, then immediately regretted it. The motion upset his headache.

"Right, well, you go get changed."

"Yes, sir. But I need to use your phone to have something done with my car."

Cuddy thought a moment before replying. "I'll call for you. Just go change."


	2. Mum's the Word

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the soggy cardboard box I live in and a laptop conveniently equipped with wireless internet - all of which are for sale.

A/N: I honestly didn't expect to get that many reviews for one chapter. It may not seem like much, I guess, but it is for me. I have exams and testing coming up, so I'll be studying a lot, but I'll try to update reasonably. Again, I apologize for mistakes.

BlkDiamond, funny you mentioning the two miles thing. That was actually my second version of the first chapter, because I'm an idiot and didn't save the original, but I remember that it was originally one mile, and somewhere along the way it changed to two and I didn't pay much notice to it. But I suppose it wouldn't be above House to exaggerate xD

Chap. 2 Mum's the Word

Stephen Fry: Tigers only roar to tell other tigers where they are.

Alan Davies: Where the Frosties are.

-QI; 1.02-

Nurse: Patient in one requested a male doctor.  
Cuddy: Balls are in your court, Doctor.  
House: Union rules. I can't check out this guy's seeping gonorrhea this close to lunch.  
Cuddy: Exam room one.  
House: Well it's sexist and a very dangerous precedent; if people could choose the sex of their doctors you gals would be out business.  
Cuddy: Exam room one.

-Autopsy-

Eight hours later, Cuddy rolled onto her back, blinking her sleepy eyes. Sunlight bled past her bedroom curtains, casting its gaze onto her bed. Flakes of snow were falling outside her window with no regard whatsoever to the hundreds of people who were going to have to drive through that. I'm glad I have the day off, she thought as she stared idly at her white bedroom ceiling. Cuddy was content and would have gladly stayed in bed for the rest of the day, but her thoughts traveled to the man sleeping on her couch.

She pushed back her blanket, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and treaded to the bathroom, whilst grabbing a robe from her closet. But before reaching the bathroom, she passed the living room.

The spacious room was empty all except for one occupant whom was lightly snoring on the couch. The pillow had fallen off the couch and his head was lolled over to the side, facing the back of the sofa. The blanket was only covering part of his legs while most of it hung over the edge of the small couch, resting on the hardwood floors. He was wearing one of his dark gray t-shirts and the pants from the scrubs, passing quite convincingly as pajama bottoms. She had to admit he looked kind of uncomfortable, his clothes twisted around him, his hand with the broken fingers resting lightly on bruised ribs.

She took a quick detour from her trip to the bathroom and walked over to the couch, picking up the blanket and adjusting it over House. He didn't even stir.

- - - - - - - - - -

Still clad in a robe and pajamas, Cuddy sat in a recliner in the living room, coffee cup in one hand and a book in the other. Her hair was pulled back and her face was clear of makeup. It was already noon, but she was feeling particularly lazy.

And, apparently, so was House. He was still sleeping. He had started to stir about half an hour earlier, mumbling incoherent words or meaningless phrases, such as "chocolate cake" or "iPod's gone". At first, Cuddy thought it was amusing, but soon he became more and more restless, no longer mumbling, but a pained expression crossing his haggard features. It was the deep groan he emitted that sent Cuddy to her feet, deciding to finally wake him up.

"House," she said, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever slightly. No response. "House," she said once more, a bit louder, and this time his eyes fluttered open, the pained expression still on his face, but his eyes portraying confusion. She watched him take a quick look around, recognition finally flitting over his face, and his eyes locked on the amber bottle of vicodin sitting on the coffee table.

Realizing that it had been awhile since his last Vicodin - and with chronic pain, sleeping on a couch, and an all-around sore body, you need those painkillers – she reached for the bottle, popped it open and shook out two pills handing them to House. He took them, dry-swallowing as usual, and closed his eyes, waiting impatiently for the drug to take affect.

Realizing that she was hovering, Cuddy backed off, stepping away from the couch. It was a couple minutes later when she asked "When was your last vicodin?"

He was silent for a few moments, eyes still closed, but his face a bit more relaxed. "The pain woke me up earlier around dawn."

"What hurts now?"

"Everything."

"How's your head?"

"Just peachy."

"House."

"It hurts."

House seemed to be feeling laconic, and she noticed that as his face became more relaxed he seemed drowsier. She figured he was going to fall back asleep.

"Your couch sucks," he said with little oomph.

"Thanks, I picked it out myself," deadpanned Cuddy.

"Ah, that explains it."

"Go back to sleep, but when you wake up you're eating something and you're going to be a good boy about it."

"Mum's the word," he mumbled, but did as he was told and drifted back to sleep.

- - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy would admit that House was an enigma to her; a puzzle, a riddle, a mystery. Sometimes she thought she knew what he was all about, but she never really did. The man who lived to solve puzzles was a puzzle himself - a puzzle that he had no interest in dissecting. You try to analyze him, and up come his defenses: four tall walls of steel with guards posted at every station, armed with witty and cruel barbs.

You push him and he'll push back. Sometimes you didn't even have to push first. But, it didn't matter who started the pushing. Her relationship with him was basically Cat and Mouse. Officially, she should have some control over him. She was his boss, for Heavens sake. In reality, she had very little control. But she had more power than anyone else. Wilson, his ducklings – none of them could control him. Not even any of his other bosses that eventually fired him. She managed to get him to clinic, at least.

Not a large feat, mind you, but a feat none the less.

She knew she trusted him. He proved that trust when he kept her secret about the invitro fertilization. He even lied to Wilson, though she's sure he's lied to him about other things. In his own twisted, unrecognizable way he looked out for her.

She knew he trusted her. He proved that trust when he asked for the ketamine and for the morphine. And Cuddy had lied to him. She always felt guilty for lying to him – it was in her nature – but she was always looking out for his best interests. In her own warped, obscure way she looked out for him.

Her musings were interrupted by a gruff voice from the kitchen doorway. "Can I go home yet?"

Cuddy realized that she had been standing in her kitchen, staring idly at the countertop, obviously in her own world. She turned around to face him saying, "You still have yet to eat."

"You expect me to scarf down whatever it is you call food?" he said, limping over to the coffee maker, hanging his cane on the edge of the counter.

"I do. And you're not going to give me any lip," said Cuddy as she watched him look around through the cabinets, presumably for a coffee cup.

"Or else?" he asked, opening a new cabinet door with his good hand.

"Or else," she began, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out a cup, "you'll get two more weeks of clinic duty."

"Is that even legal?" he asked, taking the cup from her, then stopped and looked at it curiously, a bemused expression crossing his face. "Snoopy and Charlie Brown?"

'What?' she thought and she looked over at cup. There was indeed a picture of Snoopy and Charlie Brown on there. "It was a gift. Some doctors actually get those."

"Sure, doctors," he said, pouring the black liquid in the cup, "But Deans of Medicine? No, they give you money."

"I work in the clinic. I got it from a patient there."

"Well, then it's probably laced with poison," he said, just before he took a swig of the bitter drink.

"I'm tempted to lace your food with poison right about now."

"Hey, you're the one who's keeping me hostage."

"I'm not keeping you hostage," she said. Was she keeping him hostage? Why did she insist that he stay here? she wondered.

"Could have fooled me," he returned. "Do you have any cereal? Or do you have some thing against sugar."

"You're infuriating," she muttered, while turning her back to him in search of cereal. He was always trying to get a rise out of her, as he always did every day at work, but today was her day off. Couldn't he cut her a little slack?

"I try," he said, and she noticed an underlying strain in his voice. She turned to look at him and noticed the lines of his face etched in pain, shifting more weight onto his left leg, while gripping his wasted thigh with his good hand. The goofy-looking coffee cup sat forgotten on the counter.

"You okay?" she asked, immediately feeling stupid. He was obviously not okay. She stepped over to him, unsure what to do.

She watched House's previously closed eyes snap open at the question. He had obviously been waiting till she had turned around to let his defenses fall.

"Yeah," he mumbled, trying to get his facial expression under control. "My leg always acts up during winter, that's all."

"Yeah, that's all it is," she said sarcastically. The pity in her eyes soon turned to something else mixed with exasperation. He could be so stubborn sometimes, no, all the time. He had brought stubbornness to a martial art.

She was about to go into full rant mode, berating him about hiding his pain, saying she could help him, when there was a knock on the door.

"Expecting anyone?" House said, a smirk playing across his lips, probably thinking something along the lines of 'saved by the bell'.

"This isn't over," she said, and she made her way out of the kitchen, across the living room, and to the front door.

Truth was she had no idea who was knocking on her door.

She swung the door open and was shocked by what she saw. What were they doing here? she thought. What am I going to say about House? What are they going to say about House? What are they going to say to House? What is House going to say to them? All of these questions ran through her mind, each new one making her more and more queasy.

"Well, are you going to let us in, or do we have to stand in the cold all day?" The voice was soft, sweet and enchanting as it carried across the winter wind.

As soon as Cuddy picked her jaw up off the floor she replied with, "Of course, come in. Dad, Mom, Tommy, what are you doing here?"


	3. Diamond in the Rough

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the soggy cardboard box I live in and a laptop conveniently equipped with wireless internet - all of which are for sale.

A/N: Four things I would like to say: 1. Sorry for taking so long to update. Like I've said before I've been doing a lot of studying and I've been tied up. I've also been working on a HouseWilson friendship oneshot that's getting nowhere. Sorry to those who are actually reading this. 2. Thank you so much for the reviews. Any comments to improve my writing and/or story would be great. 3. Congrats to Hugh Laurie for getting nominated for a Golden Globe. 4. DAMN TRITTER!

I should also probably mention that this takes place after the failed ketamine experiment, but before the Tritter arc, so probably around episodes Informed Consent and Lines in the Sand.

Chap. 3 Diamond in the Rough

Charming man. I wish I had a daughter so I could forbid her to marry one…

-Arthur Dent; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy-

Cuddy: My stack's bigger than your stack. You in or out?

House: You know that relative to their size, gorillas have smaller testicles than humans.

Cuddy: Well, then you'd probably have an edge over a gorilla, but not over me.

-All In-

Mom, Dad and Tommy stood in front of Cuddy's door, snow up to their ankles. Why Lisa would want to live in Jersey was beyond me, thought Tommy. I take that back. She lives here because her hospital is here. God, that woman was a workaholic. Doesn't she get tired of it? I have a hard enough time with medical school.

Tommy snapped out of reverie when the door swung open, revealing his sister. Tommy almost laughed when he saw her surprised expression. But, instead of laughing, his face broke into a grin as wide and noticeable as a billboard.

She wore none of the Dean-of-medicine-I'm-professional-and-sedate-yet-still-a-woman-clothes she was usually clad in. Instead she was wearing cotton pajamas, with her hair pulled back, and she had no make-up on. She looked different then what he was used to.

"Well, are you going to let us in, or do we have to stand in the cold all day?" Mother said, and Tommy watched with amusement as Lisa tried to compose herself and hide her shock.

"Of course, come in. Dad, Mom, Tommy, what are you doing here?" she said, whilst opening the door and standing out of the way as they all filed inside the foyer, the warm air welcoming them.

"Always with the questions. Don't we get a hug?" he heard his mother say, but his attention was drawn to the mussed blanket on the couch and the blue backpack beside it. Tommy was sure the backpack wasn't hers – too unfashionable for her tastes. So whose was it?

His question was answered when he heard his mother say: "Who's this?"

Tommy turned to where Mother was looking and he saw a man standing inside the doorway to what Tommy remembered as the kitchen. He was bedraggled, certainly, and his hair had adopted a look that could only be classified as 'bed head'. But firstly, Tommy noticed the cane, a stylish, probably expensive, wooden cane, which he deducted would only be used by someone with a long-term handicap, which meant that it had nothing to do with the other injuries the mystery man was currently sporting. Tommy noted the laceration across his forehead, the splinted fingers, and the lovely, multicolored bruise on his arm – all of them looking like fresh wounds. But, the most disconcerting fact was that the man's concentrated blue eyes were examining Tommy and his parents, dissecting them. The intensity of his gaze was slightly alarming, and Tommy suddenly felt as if he had been thrown on stage into the spotlight. He wished he would look away.

But, who was he, and what was he doing here?

- - - - - - - - - -

House limped over the threshold into the living room, and his eyes immediately fell upon the three new visitors: an old man taking off his coat, a woman hugging Cuddy, and a younger man staring at the couch, presumably at his backpack.

The old man, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, was of stocky build with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His eyes were blue. The same blue as Cuddy's, noted House. House imagined he was probably a popular, 'handsome' jock back in high school.

The woman looked to be the same age as the old man, yet her face was assorted with only a few wrinkles. Her hair was short and light brown with gray at the roots. She had the same build as Cuddy, which House couldn't complain, but he wasn't about to go hitting on some old woman. From his distance he couldn't tell what color her eyes were, but he assumed they were either brown or hazel.

The younger man, House figured he was about 25 years old, looked like a male version of Cuddy. He had shaggy, dark wavy hair, blue eyes, and was of average build.

It didn't take Einstein or Holmes to figure out that they were family.

But, what were they doing here?

- - - - - - - - - -

"Who's this?" Cuddy heard her mom say past her ear as she peered over her shoulder. Cuddy released her grip and turned to see House standing in the kitchen doorway.

Cuddy wanted to get a word in before House so she hastily replied with: "A friend." It sounded strange calling House a friend, as she wasn't really sure what they were. But she couldn't say colleague, because she didn't want her parents to think that she was taking in any male doctor that worked with her. She also didn't want them thinking that they were involved. Hence the rushing to speak before House. God only knows what kind of story he would make up just to watch her squirm.

Her family passed her questioning glances, and she decided to start introductions. "Uh, House, these are my parents, Gene and Linda, and my brother, Tommy. Guy's, this is Dr. Greg House."

"The Dr. Gregory House?" Tommy muttered in astonishment. Inwardly, Cuddy groaned. She should have seen this coming. She glanced at Tommy, then at House. Tommy's face was glazed over in shock, while House merely quirked an eyebrow.

"No, his clone," said House sarcastically, speaking for the first time since her family had arrived.

"You're a legend over at Michigan. A brilliant, world-renowned diagnostician," gushed Tommy, unperturbed. House looked smugly over at Cuddy causing her to scowl. This was potential blackmail material. "But what are you doing here?" Tommy asked.

House opened his mouth, probably to come back with some snappy comment or an embarrassing, untrue story, so again, Cuddy rushed to cut him off, trying to take control of the situation again. "He was in a car accident last night," she said, and was going to elaborate, when she realized that she still had no reason why her family was here. She wanted answers first. "But what are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, well," her mother began, "It's almost Christmas and we wanted to surprise you. Besides, when was the last time we spent Christmas together as a family?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It's been years. And, yes, we know you have work, but even Deans of Medicine can get a break for Christmas."

"You could have at least called me," said Cuddy. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to see you, but if you would have called in advance I could have rearranged meetings and made more time to see you guys."

"True, but then we wouldn't have been able to surprise you, now could we have?" she said. "Still, we didn't realize we were interrupting something." She emphasized her point by glancing at House. How cliché that pointed stare was.

"What? No! We're not together. I already said he's just a friend," Cuddy looked over at House as if to ask for help explaining, but she should have known she wasn't going to get any.

"You're the one that's keeping me hostage," he said. Again, with the word 'hostage'.

"I'm not keeping you hostage," she said in an exasperated tone, and began futilely to try to explain her actions. "You were in a car accident less the twenty-four hours ago. And you're being an idiot, and you want to go home alone with bruised ribs and a broken hand." And a bum leg.

"No, I want to go to work. I have a dying patient on my hands. Besides, it's not like anything could happen, and even if something did, which it won't, I'd be surrounded by doctors."

Can't argue with that logic, thought Cuddy.

That was when the previously forgotten mother spoke up. "Please, we insist that you stay." Both Cuddy and House turned to her.

"I really should be getting back to the hospital," said House sincerely, obviously trying to squirm his way out of this situation.

"Oh, pish posh." Who says that these days? thought Cuddy. "There are other doctors, I'm sure. It's a hospital, for Heaven's sake," said her mother.

"Yes, but you see, all of the other doctors are idiots and couldn't diagnose a runny a nose. I know a runny nose when I see one, which is why I'm Head of Diagnostics. Which is why I need to be over there to diagnose my patient."

This is going to be interesting. Cuddy knew that both House and her mother were equally stubborn and headstrong. Her mother may look nice and sweet, and for the most part she was, but when she sets her mind to something…

"Well, then call the other doctors in your department and diagnose your patient over the phone. You're a 'brilliant, world-renowned diagnostician'," she said, using Tommy's words against House. "It shouldn't be too hard." And she walked into the kitchen, leaving a stunned House in her wake. _End of discussion._


	4. Cup of Joe

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the soggy cardboard box I live in and a laptop conveniently equipped with wireless internet - all of which are for sale. In short, I don't own House MD.

A/N: I am officially the slowest writer on the face of the planet. My excuse: Christmas week was hectic and I had family over.

This chapter is full of dialouge and House commentary. Also, sorry if it doesn't seem very Huddy-ish, yet.

Chap 4 Cup of Joe

People sometimes accuse me of knowing a lot.

'Stephen', they say, accusingly, 'you know a lot.'

-Stephen Fry; The Book of General Ignorance-

-

House: I could run home.

Cuddy: (looks at his leg) No, you couldn't.

House: Nice.

-Pilot-

"Cuddy, may I borrow your phone?" House said in a mockingly sincere voice as they all followed Momma Cuddy into the kitchen. House sent Linda a look that said '_Fine, watch me while I diagnose my patient over the phone._'

Linda merely responded with a look that said '_No one's stopping you'_. To her daughter, however, she said, "Lisa, dear, where do you keep the coffee cups again?"

For the second time that morning, Cuddy fished out a mug from the cabinet, this one devoid of any cartoons, and she briefly considered labeling her cabinet 'Coffee Cups Here'.

As soon as Linda poured her coffee, and Cuddy handed House the phone, they all filed into the dining room, each taking a seat at the table. No one but Cuddy noticed the small sigh of relief House emitted as he sat down, taking the weight off of his leg. She thought it better not to comment in front of her family, and instead she pointedly ignored it, taking a seat next to her mother.

Linda began talking as House punched in the number to Diagnostics. "So, Lisa, what have you been doing lately? Any new boyfriends?"

Cuddy groaned. Nosy Mother strikes again. "No, Mom. I don't have time for relationships."

"Well, you should make time. Are there any doctors at the hospital you like? Or is it unethical to date someone you work with?"

Before Cuddy had a chance to answer, House began talking into the phone. "Put me on speakerphone." There was a moments silence before House asked "What'd the MRI show?" Again, another pause, this time his expression turning sour. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said quickly, "Enough about me. I'm not the one dying."

Cuddy figured he was probably responding to something Cameron said. Last night Cuddy relayed a message from House to get the patient an MRI, in which case she also told them about House's accident and that he couldn't do a differential.

House seemed to be oblivious to the others listening in on his one-sided conversation, Tommy the most attentive. He was immersed in his puzzle. But it was a distraction and it would keep his mind off the pain.

After a few more minutes of House suggesting and rejecting several diagnoses, he said "I'll be in as soon as I can" before he disconnected the call and sent a pointed glare at the female Cuddys.

"So, how's your patient?" asked Linda.

"She's still dying."

"_He_," Cuddy interjected, "_He's_ still dying."

"Same difference."

"No, there's a big difference. You think a man can have a baby?"

"Only if he tried really hard," he said to Cuddy as if talking to a child. "Besides," he continued, idly fiddling with his cane, "he's not pregnant. We already checked."

"Of course you did," deadpanned Cuddy.

"Hey, isn't it illegal to keep someone somewhere against their will?" House said, changing the subject.

"You two are friends?" interjected Gene, Cuddy's father, speaking for the first time.

"Uh, yeah. Something like that. We've known each other for awhile. We met in college," said Cuddy.

"Oh, yeah. Those were the days. Cuddy was a little, naïve undergrad and she used to-"

"No storytelling for you," interrupted Cuddy.

"Ah, you never let me have any fun."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Well, as long as I'm stuck here, I might as well pry into your guys' life," said House.

Cuddy groaned.

"For starters, what do you two do?" he asked, looking at the Cuddy parents, still toying with the slender cane.

"What is this? Twenty questions?" Linda said, and House merely shrugged in response. "Fine, but for every question we answer, you have to answer one of our own."

House's face contorted into a frown. Where was the fun in prying into other's lives when they get to pry into yours also? However, it's a distraction; better then listening to the Cuddy's talk about other mind numbing subjects. He'd be catatonic before the day was through.

"Fine."

"Right." Linda smiled. "I'm an accountant." _Oooh, fun._ "And Gene's a doctor." _A bunch of stiffs._ "And Tommy's in medical school," _Guess it runs in the family_. "at Michigan." _Yeah, I figured. Gene probably went to Michigan also._ "My turn." _Great._ "Why do you have a cane?" _No restraint at all, this woman has. Be kind to the poor, ol' cripple_.

"Because I have a limp."

Linda sent him a wry look. "You know what I meant."

"You should have been more specific."

"Okay, fine. How 'bout this? Why do have a limp?"

"Nope. It's my turn to ask a question. You already asked one, and you don't get to ask two just because you didn't like my answer to the first one." _Ha._ "Are there any other little Cuddy demons roaming around?" _I hadn't even known she had a brother. For all I know she's got seven brothers and sisters, and a he/she thrown in the mix for safe measure._

"Yes."

House expected her to elaborate, but she didn't. "Well? How many?"

Linda grinned. "Ah, you only get to ask one question, even if you weren't satisfied with my first answer." _This woman had a way with words. Okay, point taken_. "Why do you have a limp?" she asked again.

"Infarction. You know, a blood clot in the leg," explained House with a tone one would use with a child, not their boss' mother. "Which caused muscle death. You can't walk right when you're missing part of you thigh."

"How much muscle death?" asked Tommy, doctor instincts kicking in.

"And why didn't you amputate?" added Gene.

Linda wouldn't recognize the possible choices of an infarction, as she was the only person in the room who wasn't a doctor, but Gene and Tommy would.

"Hey, it's my turn to ask a question. Okay, Tommy, what type of doctor are you studying to become?"

Tommy seemed delighted that House had taken an interest in him. _Like a dog with a bone. Don't flatter yourself, kid._ "I'm going to be a pulmonologist. It took me forever to decide on a specialty but I eventually decided on pulmonology because I think it's interesting." _Oh, great, he's babbling._ "In fact, I think all medicine in general is interesting."_ Jeez, I didn't ask for your life story. One word would have sufficed. _

"Maybe you should be a diagnostician if you're any good at the whole doctor thing," said House. He thought the kid seemed kind of perceptive when he first saw him, but as soon as he found out whom House was any perception and brain cells he may have had flew out the window.

"I take it you're not married," said Linda.

"And why do you say that? I'm obviously not wearing a ring, but that could be because my fingers are broken."

"I doubt anyone could live with you, let alone marry you." _Good point. But I did used to live with somebody. _"Anyway, my question is: Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"So you're spending Christmas alone, then?"

"Nope. I'll be with Steve."

"Steve?" asked Linda

"His pet rat," explained Cuddy.

"Oh," said Linda. "Well, anyway. You should spend Christmas with us."

"No way," said Cuddy and House at the same time.

"Please; we insist."

"Yeah, no. No way," repeated House. "You insisted that I stay here not long ago and I'm already regretting that." _There is no way you're weaseling me into staying for Christmas. It'd be a Christmas in hell._

"Ah, c'mon. How bad could it be?"

"I don't know, but I'm not too keen on finding out."

"You'd rather spend Christmas alone?"

"I'm not a Christmas-y type of person. I don't celebrate Christmas, and I'm not going to start just because you want me to."

"Ok, fine," gave up Linda.

"And I noticed you were quick to object me staying longer," House said to Cuddy.

"Hey, I don't want us to spend Christmas together, either," Cuddy defended. House wasn't sure what to say to that comment, so he kept his mouth shut. _I don't like her either, right?_


	5. Thinking Cap

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't own House or even Wilson. Gosh, these disclaimers are really depressing. I do, however, own Gene, Linda and Tommy.

A/N: I was on vacation, hiatus, sabbatical, whatever. I sincerely apologize. I've been kinda beating around the bush with this chapter. I struggled a lot with it, and it's not even that good. I didn't really know what I was doing with it. Sorry for making you guys wait this long and then handing out this crappy chapter. Thanks to hell's-sugarrushed-killerqueen who reminded me to get off my lazy butt (or rather on) and finish this chapter. Nice to know someone was still out there. Cheers.

Chap. 5 Thinking Cap

There's travel in your future when your tongue freezes to the back of a  
speeding bus.  
Fill that void in your pathetic life by playing Whack-A-Mole seventeen hours a  
day.

-That's Your Horoscope for Today; Weird Al-

-

Cuddy: I can't always be here to protect you. Patients talk. Doctors talk.

House: About how big your ass has gotten lately? Not me. I defend it. You got back.

-Detox-

"Should you really be here at work, House?" asked Cameron the next day, as House limped his way into the conference room, making a beeline for the coffee.

"Should you really be asking your boss that question?" retorted House, not bothering to look back at her. He knew he must look like crap. He certainly felt like crap. His head was throbbing, his leg burning, his whole body was aching. He just wanted to quickly get a cup of coffee and then go sit down before he fell down.

"Well, you were just in a car accident less than 36 hours ago," she said, trying to justify her concerns, "And it's Christmas day," she finished, as if it were going to make a difference to House what day of the year it was.

"Really?" asked House, taking his coffee and sitting at the table, wary of his bruised ribs. "Christmas day, you don't say? I didn't know. But what I do know is that we've got a kid downstairs dying. So, Christmas carols are going to have to wait."

Cameron promptly dropped the subject.

- - - - - - - - - -

After they considered, listed, crushed and spat on several diagnoses, House ordered his ducklings to "go do something useful", which they then translated into English and left to go perform the necessary tests. House then retired to his office, turning on his iPod to Don McLean's "American Pie", and he leaned back in his chair, gingerly kicking his feet up on the desk. It didn't take long for House to fall asleep…

…And then awake to the sound of his office door closing. Sensing eyes on him, House cracked open an eye, like a cat too lazy to open the other, and sent his intruder a one-eyed glare.

Wilson.

House closed his eye. "I'm working," he murmured sleepy, speaking over the tones of "Pinball Wizard" resonating through the speakers of the stereo in which his iPod resided.

"I can tell," said Wilson, taking a seat opposite of House. He continued with a cautious tone, bordering on concern. "Cameron told me you were in a car accident."

"She lied," House said. "Its Cuddy fault I'm like this. She finally snapped and attacked me the other day. I always knew she had a problem."

"Yeah," said Wilson wryly, "And her problem has a limp and wears wrinkled clothes."

"Be that as it may," House answered, eyes still closed, "I think we should send her to the loony bin. She'd fit right in. Get the help she needs." He paused as if thinking. "But if we sent her away, whose funbags would I look at?"

"Ah, stuck between a rock and a hard place." House seemed fine, even if his comebacks weren't up to snuff. "Want to grab some lunch?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Are you paying?"

"Naturally."

"You know me. Never pass up free food."

- - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy sat in her office, recalling her conversation she had with her mother last night.

"_I'm sorry about Dr. House," Cuddy said to her mother, once she returned from driving House home and picking up some groceries for dinner. The sun was already down and it was getting late, so Gene and Tommy went looking for a hotel to check in, as Cuddy didn't have enough places to sleep in her house. The plan was that while they were gone, Cuddy would cook dinner and have some mother/daughter time with her mom._

"_Oh, not at all," responded Linda." I thought he was a funny and charming man."_

_Cuddy stopped in her tracks. "Are we talking about the same person? How many Dr. House's do you know?"_

_Linda laughed. "Only one, I'm sure. My memory's in tip-top shape, hon."_

_Cuddy continued walking into the kitchen, placing the groceries on the counter. "I always thought you were a perceptive person, now I'm not too sure."_

_Linda seemed amused by her daughter's behavior. "Oh, ye of little faith." _

_Cuddy turned to her mother, pausing her mission of putting away the groceries. "Then what do you think of House?"_

_Linda thought for a moment, recalling her short time in the company of the man. "He's a miserable and lonely person." Cuddy nodded. "He's a man who's accustomed to loss and pain, whom, as far as I can tell, has adopted a self-destructive streak and has stopped caring." Cuddy was about to ask 'stopped caring about what?', but she couldn't find her voice. "I'm assuming he's been let down one to many times, and has grown independent from those experiences. He has an aversion to pity, which is a result of his independence. He's also manipulative, and is used to getting what he wants. Or at least trying to get what he wants. Is he an only child, perhaps? Maybe he was spoiled, but that wouldn't correspond with the independence. I don't know."_

_Cuddy looked at her mother in astonishment. How could she deduct so much about a person she just met several hours ago? Maybe she's secretly a shrink. "And you think those are funny, charming characteristics?"_

"_No, not at all. There are many sides to Greg, I'm sure." Cuddy cringed at the use of his first name. "But he _is_ funny, and childish, and amusing."_

As it turned out, their mother/daughter time was spent talking about House.

Cuddy's thoughts were interrupted when her family treaded through her office doors.

"We thought you could take a break from daydreaming and come get some lunch with us in the cafeteria," said Linda's voice from the doorway.

"Sure." Cuddy set down the pen she was previously twirling, and went to join her family.

- - - - - - - - - -

"So, you met Cuddy's family?" asked Wilson, taking a bite of his sandwich. "What were they like?" he mumbled around his food.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full? And they were annoying as hell," said House, unhelpfully, snatching a french fry from Wilson's plate.

"How's that?"

"Her mother talked too much, her father didn't talk enough, and her brother…well, whenever he talked nothing intelligible came out."

"Now you're just being hypocritical."

"Speak of the devil," House mumbled, as he spied the Cuddy's across the cafeteria, heading their way and carrying food trays. House bowed his head and lifted his hand to try and shadow his face.

"What are you doing?" asked Wilson, confused by his friend's odd behavior.

"Are they still coming?" questioned House, not daring to look up.

"Is who still coming?" Wilson looked up to see Cuddy and three other people taking their final steps and stopping next to House and Wilson's table.

"Hiding from us, Greg?" asked Linda, taking a seat next to House. And the three others followed suit, taking the remaining chairs.

"Not at all," said House, finally raising his head, and grimacing. "I was just…" he paused, trying to think of an excuse. "Saying grace and giving thanks before I begin eating."

Linda smiled and looked down at his plate. "Judging by the half eaten Reuben on your plate, I'd say you're lying."

House looked down at his plate, and then looked at Wilson, wearing an astonished expression. "Jimmy!" he said in a Housian manner. "Why'd you eat half my sandwich? Surely you have enough food on your own plate."

Wilson scowled and Linda laughed. "'Jimmy' is it?" asked Linda, realizing that they had sat down at the two men's table and they didn't bother introducing themselves.

Wilson nodded. "James Wilson, Head of Oncology. You must be Cuddy's family."

Linda smiled and turned to House. "I see you've been talking about us."

House shrugged helplessly. "He threatened me with Chinese water torture."

Linda smiled again, obviously amused my House's antics. "Well, I'm Linda, Lisa's mom. That's Gene, her father, and Tommy, her brother."

"Nice to meet you all," said Wilson, his goody-two-shoes charm automatically clicking on.

"Surely the pleasures all ours," said Linda, and Wilson noted in his head politely (yes, he's even polite in his mind) that House was right when he said Linda talked a lot. It seemed that when she was in a room she garnered a lot attention, whether intentional or not. "Any man who can put up with Greg must be a saint."

Wilson chuckled at this and House frowned, his face twisted in animated displeasure. "Does anyone think that maybe _I'm_ a saint for putting up with _him,_" said House. "I mean, just look at his tie." All sets of eyes looked down at Wilson's tie. It was a paisley green thing with orange patterns on it. It immediately made people wonder what mental illness the man who designed that tie had. "I'm lucky I'm not colorblind, yet."

Wilson glared at House, and sucked in a breath signaling that he was about to retort, when Foreman appeared out of nowhere and stalked up beside House.

"We've been trying to page you," said Foreman accusingly, exasperated. Foreman passed a glance at the other occupants of the table with mild curiosity, but he was more concerned about the dying teenager he had on his hands.

House quirked an eyebrow, and patted his waist, where his pager should have been. Noting its absence, House grinned sheepishly. "It seems the Pager Fairy has snatched my pager." Foreman rolled his eyes. It was probably on his desk or at home somewhere. "What have you got for me?" asked House, eyeing the folder in Foreman's hands.

"The tests were negative," said Foreman, handing over the folder. Everyone was quiet, and all eyes were on House as they watched him do his thing.

His blue eyes scanned the words and numbers, taking in every little detail, filing it away for future reference. He stayed like this for a few moments, completely ignoring the others in the cafeteria. Suddenly, he simultaneously handed the folder to Foreman, grabbed his cane and stood up from his seat. "C'mon," he directed to Foreman, and on that parting note he left the cafeteria.

They all stared after him. "He just leaves?" asked Gene.

Cuddy sighed. "He has a patient to diagnose."

- - - - - - - - - -

Later that night, Cuddy was standing in front of House's door. After spending most of the day with her family and in meetings, she was beat. She literally felt dead on her feet. And the heels she wore today weren't helping. She did, however, have a reason to be happy. House diagnosed his patient. That had to be a good Christmas gift – saving another life. She knew that the parents of the patient were grateful, and they had actually called House a miracle worker. This was probably because they hadn't actually met him. Had they met him in person they might have rethought that declaration, but in the end, their son was still alive.

Cuddy finally gathered up some courage and knocked on House's door.

And waited.

There was no answer. She couldn't hear any movement from inside. Maybe he was sleeping? She tired knocking again, a little louder this time. She wasn't sure if he was just ignoring the door or if he really was already in bed. She looked at her watch; it read 7:50 P.M. A little early for going to bed, wouldn't you say? She was staring to get a tad worried. She tried knocking again, this time with an annoying, persistent knock.

Suddenly, the door quickly swung open while Cuddy was still knocking, and lacking quick reflexes, Cuddy ended up punching House in the shoulder, his body absorbing the blow instead of the door which was there a second ago.

"Ow! What was that for?" said House in a groggy voice, rubbing his probably already bruised shoulder. His hair was tousled, his eyes half open, and he was wearing a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms. So, he really was asleep.

"Sorry," Cuddy said. And she really was sorry. This was a great way to start off her visit. Wake him up and then punch him. "Can I come in?"

"I don't know. Are you going to punch me again?"

"Only if you leave me standing out here."

House opened his door, allowing Cuddy to enter. Cuddy stepped inside, looking around. It hadn't changed much since she had last been here. House limped over to his couch, sitting down with a sigh. Cuddy could tell he was tired, and she felt bad for waking him up.

"So, what are you doing here? Finally want to have hot, kink-" Cuddy cut him off.

"I just wanted to say Merry Christmas," she said, taking a seat beside him on the couch.

House snorted. "You could have saved yourself a trip and just picked up the phone."

"I could have, but then I wouldn't be able to give you these." Cuddy pulled out two pieces of what looked like paper from her purse, and handed them to House.

House at first looked at the paper suspiciously, but then hesitantly reached for the slips. House couldn't keep the shock off his face as he got a better look at the surprise. Cuddy grinned at his expression.

"Two monster truck tickets for next Saturday?" House asked, as if he couldn't believe that Cuddy would give him a gift like this. Cuddy knew it was one of the biggest truck rallies this year, and she was slightly proud of herself for picking out a decent gift.

"Mm hmm," said Cuddy, feeling a bit awkward. "I know you and Wilson like monster trucks, so I figured you could both go."

Seeing her unease, House said with a quirky smirk "Yeah, right. You're just trying to weasel me into doing more clinic duty."

Cuddy chuckled. "Damn," she said in mock disappointment. "You saw right through me."

"I always do."

"Right."

Neither said anything for a few moments. Both lost in thought. Cuddy glanced over at House from the corner of her eye. House seemed to be having some internal struggle.

"Y'know," House finally said, "I think Wilson's busy Saturday."

"Oh?" said Cuddy, unsure of where this was going.

"And, well," House continued, "It's no fun going to watch monster trucks alone."

"Right," Cuddy said.

"So, if you're not busy Saturday…" House trailed off, looking at his hands.

"Yes?"

"Oh, don't make me say it. You're not that dense," reprimanded House, looking up to glare at her.

Cuddy grinned. "Well, I'd have to check my calendar," she teased, purposely being difficult. "But I think I can squeeze you in."

"Sweet. Do I get clinic hours taken away if I schmooze my boss?" he said hopefully.

"Sorry, House, but it doesn't work that way. You can't schmooze me with tickets that _I _bought."

"Damn," muttered House.

A/N: Sorry to those who wanted House to spend Christmas with the Cuddys. I just didn't think it would be realistic, nor in character. And speaking of the in-character-ness of characters, I really worry about making Cuddy too Cameron-ish (no offence, or anything, Cameron lovers), or just out of character in general. Please tell me if I start to make Cuddy OC. Or make any of the character OC, in fact.


	6. Lollygag

Disclaimer: I don't own House. And chances are you don't own House, either. Here's a tissue. We can cry together.

A/N: Sorry again for the delay. I had no intention of making you guys wait so long, but a family member of mine passed away. But, anywho, thank you for the reviews. They make me smile Really. My facial muscles hurt. My ego and I thank you.

A/N2: And, by the way, Tommy's making a total 180, bipolar personality change. Timid and shy get tiring quickly – at least for me.

A/N3: Does anyone actually read these authors notes?

Chap. 6 Lollygag

We talked about nothing which was more then I wanted you to know.

-Dashboard; Modest Mouse-

-

Cuddy: Oh, why do you have to make everything so dramatic?

House: Because I'm a very high-strung little lap dog. Ruff ruff ruff, rar, ruff!

-Role Model-

Tommy was sitting by himself in the hospital cafeteria, reading a book when someone from beside him began talking to him. "What are you reading, kid?" his intruder asked, breaking Tommy out of the reality that was a murder scene at No. 3, Lauriston Gardens.

Tommy looked up from his book he was reading and looked at the figure of House, taking a seat beside him. "A Study in Scarlet," he said. He was a bit more used to being around House and no longer stumbled over his words or kept talking for long periods of time. In fact, looking back on some of the things he's said, he feels like an idiot.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes. That doesn't seem like a read required in med school."

"That's because it's not. My whole world doesn't revolve around medicine," Tommy tried to hide the bitterness in his voice, as he set down his book, abandoning any idea of reading it.

"Then you're nothing like your sister. She was all gung ho over medicine in med school," said House, taking the book from Tommy, beginning to randomly flip through the pages. Tommy noted wryly that he forgot what page he was on.

"I'm not surprised. Everything has to be perfect for Lisa."

"But not for you?" inquired House, looking up from the book, fixing Tommy with an intense gaze.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Tommy indignantly.

"You see," began House, once again looking at the book, "At first I made the mistake of assuming you were like your sister. But judging by the bitterness in your tone, I'd say you want nothing to do with medicine. Pressure from your family to carry out a tradition?"

Tommy stayed silent for a moment, and then sheepishly asked, "How'd you know?"

"I had to deal with the same thing from my father," said House.

"You're father wanted you to be a doctor?" asked Tommy.

"No," started House, and Tommy could tell he was contemplating how much he could say, "He wanted me to be in the military."

"And you became a doctor, anyway?" This idea was foreign to Tommy. "Do you still talk to your father?"

House's nimble fingers paused at the unexpected question. "No."

Tommy sighed. "All the more reason for me to stick with med school."

House glared at Tommy, as if he could see what Tommy was thinking just by looking at him. "You honestly think that if you actually did something that made you happy your family would just disown you?"

_Well…_

House continued. "You're parents seem like decent people," House had to practically choke out the 'compliment', "And I doubt Cuddy would be upset if you quit med school."

"Yeah, but you don't talk to your dad anymore. I don't want that to happen to me."

"My dad and I had other problems. Even if we didn't have career disagreements, I still wouldn't talk to him," countered House.

"What other problems?" asked Tommy curiously.

House ignored him, clearly not going to give away anymore about his personal life. His personal life was, after all, personal. "Trust my judgment when I say that your dad's not going to hate you if you…do whatever it is you want to do. What do you want to do again?"

Tommy smiled timidly. "I want to be a chef and open up my own restaurant."

Needless to say, House was shocked. Crickets could possibly be heard in the background. That is assuming you could here crickets in a hospital cafeteria. "You are nothing like your sister," he finally said, staring at Tommy like he was an alien.

Tommy laughed. "That's what I'm worried about. Lisa set high standards that I'm expected to meet."

"Well, there's always a bright side," began House. "When your restaurant customers keel over from food poisoning, you'll have some medical training."

"I suppose that _is _a plus." Tommy smiled. "Don't get me wrong. I think medicine is interesting, but it's too scientific and by-the-book. It's just not for me, I guess. Know what I mean?"

"Sure," said House. He knew what Tommy meant, but he didn't necessarily agree with him. House liked the familiar medical facts.

The conversation reached a lull and both sat in uneasy silence. House was flipping through the book again, surprised that he was being civil with someone, and Tommy was fingering the sleeve of his shirt, surprised that he had spilled his guts. For some reason he felt uplifted, but still slightly uneasy.

"Anyway," said House, "where's your parents, kid?'

Tommy wished that he would stop calling him 'kid'. "They decided to go shopping. I didn't go 'cause I can only take so much of my parents."

"Let me guess. You lied and said something like 'I have to study' or 'I'm going to spend time with my sister', right?"

"Actually, I said the first one. I couldn't say that I was spending time with my sister because there was always the chance that my parents would talk to Lisa and realize that I wasn't bugging her today."

House nodded his head in approval. Maybe this kid wasn't an idiot. Either that or he was used to making excuses and lying to his parents.

"So," said House, "who are your other siblings and what do they do?" House recalled the time Linda had mentioned that there were other Cuddy's running around.

It took Tommy a moment to switch gears at the unexpected conversation change. "Oh, um," began Tommy, "I have two older brothers and an older sister. Sebastian's a judge and he's also Lisa's fraternal twin. They're both the oldest. Adam is a lawyer and Rebecca's a doctor, also.."

"Wow, your family is just full of smart people," said House, mentally calculating all of the jobs. There were two doctors, a doctor in training, a Dean of Medicine, a lawyer, an accountant, and a judge. "Do you guys have any fun?"

"Actually, Becca and Adam are kind of like party animals – at least to an extent. Adam has a wife and kid now, so he's cut back. Sebastian's the uptight one."

"As is Cuddy," added House.

"True, but she could occasionally have fun."

House's face was one of skepticism. "Cuddy? Fun? I'm having a hard time visualizing this."

Tommy smiled. "I was using the term 'occasionally' loosely."

"And by that you mean she had fun about twice a year."

"Pretty much."

A/N4: Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the Cuddy family. Oh, well. I blame all this caffeine I'm consuming. Also, sorry this chapter sucked. It's just a filler until "The Date". Have no fear, though, The Date is the next chapter – and I already have half of it written, so you shouldn't have to wait nearly as long as I've been making you guys. Much apologies. Over and out.


End file.
